


The Things We Don't Say

by Sue_Clover



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Coco Locos Angst Off 2018, F/M, Gen, but still a death, except that would defeat the purpose, final death actually, it would be a happy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 19:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16311242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sue_Clover/pseuds/Sue_Clover
Summary: Imelda finds out when exactly Héctor died, soon after her own death. This changes everything.Except that she can't share this knowledge with the living side of the family.





	The Things We Don't Say

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "You already know."

The wait seems interminable. Skeletons stand in line, couples, families, and individuals. The kiosks at the front are too far away to see, and the line behind them extends all the way to the door of the building and out the other side. It is a sea of people. Héctor feels like he will drown in it.

“I don’t understand why you keep going every year,” Victoria says.

He gives her a big smile. The smile is brittle, but he hopes she can’t tell. “Because not going would mean giving up, and if I gave up, I would not be me.”

“I suppose not,” she concedes. She gives him a small smile and squeezes his arm, then moves ahead when the line shifts.

His smile falls.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Imelda is the one to greet the family as they arrive, to explain things. Héctor stays at home. Ostensibly, this is because even though they are all dead, it would be awkward if his family tried to kill him in the middle of the station.

The real reason is that he doesn’t want to have to deal with their guilt when they realize they’ve been hating him all these years for something he didn’t do. He knows they will feel guilty; after all, Imelda does, and they are her familia. But he can’t handle it because he’s still struggling with his own guilt.

Héctor knows, intellectually, that he did not abandon his family. That he was ripped away from them by untimely chance, and that he never stopped trying to come home. But he can’t help but feel he shouldn’t have left in the first place, though he thought at the time the money would be worth the time away. He can’t erase the dark years alone, when he wondered what he did wrong to have been left off the ofrenda year after year. He can’t forget the shame and depression he felt when Imelda first died and he realized how much she hated him.

At some point during that first year of her death, though, Imelda found out his date of death. Héctor doesn’t know how, or what prompted her to look, but this one fact changed everything. She came to him and apologized, and they made up. For Héctor, who’d thought she knew he was dead all along, this prompted a new bout of depression when he realized Ernesto never told her. Just a reminder of how little the man really cared about him.

Héctor and Imelda are reconciled now, and he’s happier than he’s been in years. But sometimes he thinks of Coco, watching out the window and waiting for him to come home, and thinks maybe he deserves Imelda’s anger after all.

So he lets Imelda do the explaining, focuses on getting to know the family he’s never gotten to see before, and tries to forget the reason why.

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, the line moves and it is their turn. Oscar and Felipe go first, then Rosita, Julio, and Victoria. Héctor is next. He steps in front of the machine, summons the most hopeful smile he can manage, and – it buzzes at him angrily. He can feel his frame droop, but he does not make a scene. If he were still on his own, with nothing to hold onto other than the desperate desire to see Coco again that still beats where his heart used to be, then he might make a run for it. But as it is, he has Imelda, and the rest of his dead family, and they are important, too. He won’t do that to them. (Besides, he knows it would be useless. The only reason Héctor used to make such ridiculous plans to get past the guards every year was because, back then, denial was the only thing keeping him going. He always knew the petals would never hold his weight.)

He steps back out of line calmly. He tries to ignore the pitying stares, putting his hat back on to briefly hide his face. When he looks up, Imelda has turned to him, her expression conflicted. “Héctor, maybe I should stay with you this time.”

“No, Imelda,” he says. “You should go. Cross the bridge, see our family.”

“But –”

He takes her hands. “For me, por favor. Spend time with Coco. Give her a hug for me, talk to her. I’ll be waiting at home, and you can tell me all about it in the morning.”

For a moment, her eyes flicker with an unnamed fear, but then she nods, once again made of steel. She turns back to the machine and the attendant behind it, ignoring the impatient families waiting behind them. The machine dings, she walks forward to join their family at the bridge. She looks back once, and Héctor gives a wave and a smile, then she turns front once more and he lets it drop.

He watches until the family reaches the crest of the bridge. Then, they are past it, and Imelda is gone. He turns around and walks back, feeling the eyes of security on him until he is well out of the building.

 

* * *

 

 

Music is a difficult topic for the Rivera family. For the shoemakers, it is simply habit to avoid it, a habit formed from many years under Imelda’s strong rule, and they do not quite know how to deal with their musician grandfather. For Héctor, Ernesto’s betrayal in taking his songs without giving credit (especially what he did to “Remember Me”), and not even telling Héctor’s family of his death, spoiled the experience for him. He still likes to listen (to anyone other than Ernesto), but he hasn’t played in years.

They don’t really talk about it. Imelda no longer defends the silence with her shoe, but she doesn’t seek out music, either. Sometimes Rosita will start humming as she works, or Julio will tap his foot, and as soon as they notice what they are doing, they’ll stop and look around furtively. But then they realize the punishment is not going to come, and tentatively continue. Victoria is usually the first one up, and sometimes Héctor hears her sing in a low, sweet voice as she starts breakfast. Once or twice he sees the twins break into dance.

It brings a smile to his face, though he rarely joins in. Imelda watches, and listens, and smiles a wistful little smile. She’ll look at him with a nostalgic sort of longing, and looking at that face he won’t be able to resist. He’ll gather her close, and sing softly into her ear as they dance around the darkened room. In those times, it’s almost like it was when they were alive.

And every night, he still sings Coco’s song. He usually goes up on the roof, with only Pepita for company, and he sings quietly so only they can hear. At night, he looks at his faded, yellowing bones, thinks of how each new family member arrives knowing less and less about him, and he prays with all his might that Coco can hear him, and she’ll continue to remember him.

They don’t really talk about that, either. They’re all _aware_ of it, but it’s an even more difficult topic than music. Though he dresses well, he doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of them with their shining skulls and bright markings. His bones are just a little too dull, his gait just a little bit too loose. Occasionally when they’re all out on the town together, people will stare – until they notice Imelda glaring at them, that is. He’s more breakable than the others, too. He treats his body like a set of shatterproof tools, but a few times he falls off a ledge or gets run over by someone on a hurry, and something breaks. Each time it takes longer to heal, until eventually it doesn’t heal at all. His family tries to make him be more careful after that. The key word being ‘tries.’

And every year on Dia de Muertos, Héctor goes with them to the station, waits patiently in line, and hopes, only to find out that no, Coco still has not put up his photo. And then he goes home.

 

* * *

 

This year is a bit different from the ones before. This year, he doesn’t go straight home. He wanders a bit, going to a couple of plazas to hear the music there, but soon he finds his feet taking him down the well-remembered path to Shantytown. He finds himself relaxing as he goes, his Rivera shoes making soft slapping sounds on the wood and stone steps.

The almost forgotten greet him warmly; though he lives with Imelda now, he still visits often. These people became his family when he had none of his own, and he hasn’t forsaken them. Héctor responds enthusiastically back to each greeting. At a few places, he even sits down to chat, or play a round of cards. He is starting to feel good again by the time he reaches the trio of ladies sitting in front of Chicharron’s house.

“Cousin Héctor!” Tia Chelo calls. “Come join us.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he says, ambling over. “Is Cheech gonna come out tonight?”

“I don’t think he’s in the mood for visitors,” whispers Tia Mairana.

“Oh?” Héctor says lightly, pouring himself a glass. He considers bringing one to his old friend, maybe try to cheer him up. He looks up at the house again – just in time to see a brief orange glow that dissipates into dust, coming from the side where the window is. “Oh,” he says again, feeling hollow.

The women follow the direction of his gaze, and sigh. “To Chicharron,” one of them says, and they all lift their glasses, and drink.

Suddenly cold, Héctor stands up (though he doesn’t recall sitting down) and hastily makes his goodbyes. He heads back through the maze of boardwalks quickly, like a man being hunted. It doesn’t take him long to reach the Rivera compound. Once inside, he gets out the photo album Imelda brought back from the ofrenda one year, and takes it into their bedroom There, he sits and stares at pictures of Coco, trying to burn the images into his soul.

 

* * *

 

The Rivera compound is brightly lit and full of energy. Their family, living and dead, swarm about joyously. There is laughter, and food, and fireworks in the distance. Yet Imelda feels anxious to leave already.

Evidently she has not hidden it well enough, because soon Rosita joins her, and says, “No one would blame you if you stepped out for a minute.”

Imelda holds her dignity together with iron will. “I think perhaps I shall.”

She walks out into the alley, and thus is perfectly placed to see little Miguel, the youngest of her grandchildren capable of speaking in full sentences, sneaking out a minute later. In his hands is a guitar.

As if pulled by an invisible chain, Imelda follows.

Miguel goes to Mariachi Plaza, a place Imelda had both loved and hated in her life; now, the sight is bittersweet. The plaza is very busy, and filled with musicians. It seems there is a competition going on, and Miguel intends to play.

A smile curls about her mouth. He is so much like Héctor at that age, that it almost hurts.

“So this is where you went,” a voice says next to her. She jumps and turns to see her twin brothers coming up on either side.

“Oscar! Felipe. What are you doing here?”

“We could ask you the same thing,” says Oscar.

Felipe hands her a piece of paper. “The dog showed it to us,” he says. Imelda looks down to see a poster for the competition.

“The dog?” she repeats, raising her brow bone.

“Si,” they tell her, grinning.

Imelda feels a long tongue lick up her backside. “That dog,” the twins say, as she turns around to find a ridiculously stupid looking dog staring up at her.

“Hmmm,” she says, eyes narrowed. She’s not quite sure what to make of the thing.

But then, it is Miguel’s turn on stage, and her attention turns away from the Xolo dog.

For a moment, Imelda is transported back in time a hundred years, and it is not Miguel playing, but her husband, before he even was her husband. He’s just a boy with a big heart and a talent bigger than their little town can contain. Then he starts singing, and he is Miguel again. She finds there are tears in her eyes.

She wishes Héctor could be here to see this.

 

* * *

 

 

It is many hours later, and Imelda is eager to get home. She enjoyed the time, even with the drama when Miguel’s living family found him in the plaza, apparently for the second time in one day. And then Miguel won the competition, which sparked off another round of arguing. Imelda is proud of her grandson, though she feels guilty that her music ban is causing so much strife between him and the rest of the family. She stayed by Coco for much of this time, trying to push away her misgivings.

Coco is tired, she could tell. Imelda’s daughter is an old woman, much older than Imelda herself was when she died, and her memory is going. She didn’t seem to recognize her family when they spoke to her, or react much to anything. Coco has had trouble with her memory for years, but this year it is worse than it has ever been. Imelda supposes Coco will join them soon. She tries not to think of what else that will mean. She especially doesn’t think about the implications of Coco’s dementia, and how it might cause that something else to happen even sooner.

It is with a relieved sigh that she opens the door to the house. She is the first to arrive home, having ridden Pepita from the station. It is quiet in the main room. Not seeing Héctor there, Imelda climbs the stairs to their bedroom. She frowns when that does not reveal her husband, either. A dark fear begins to curl in her ribcage. Usually, he tries to stay up, but with nothing to occupy him but sad thoughts, he falls asleep. But there is nothing here. She is about to leave to check the roof when she sees it – a note on the pillow. Relieved, and a bit exasperated, Imelda picks it up and begins to read.

> _Mi Amor,_
> 
> _I almost think I don’t have to tell you what happened. You already know. But we’ve avoided the topic enough. You deserve at least this much from me._
> 
> _Maybe I’ll last until you get back, and this note won’t be needed. But I can feel in my bones that I won’t. It’s happening too fast._

The handwriting becomes shakier after this point, and Imelda wipes her eyes so her tears won’t fall on the page.

> _I’m sorry, Imelda. I know you wanted to be here, so I wouldn’t be alone, but I don’t really want you to see it. Selfish of me, I know. It’s not so bad. Just a glowing light, that comes in flashes, and I have less energy. But I want you to remember me as you last saw me._
> 
> _Tell Coco – tell her I don’t blame her. She held onto my memory for so long, longer than I could have reasonably expected. Tell her how much I love her. There’s a book in the bedside table, that’s meant for her, too._
> 
> _Te amo. I love you so much_

The letter falls from her hand. She gives into the inevitable, and sobs.


End file.
